


Baked with love

by helia7



Category: A Redtail's Dream (Webcomic), Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Baking, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 21:09:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10648098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helia7/pseuds/helia7
Summary: A lost foreigner, his broken old car and a box of pastry end up in Hokanniemi. Jouko Kuikka takes care of them.





	Baked with love

**Author's Note:**

> A flashfic for the promt: Crossover: Y!OI x aRTD - Nikolai & Jouko - the language of love and baked goods
> 
> Many thanks to Kiraly for profreeding.

“Are you sure, you can repair it?” Jouko asks.

Pekka looks offended. “Of course! Just need to... examine...” the rest of his words turn into a grumble. Jouko has his doubts though; old Pekka has been clenching the bonnet for ten minutes and just staring at the engine of the old car with the Russian number-plate they’ve found by the service road that morning.

“How long do you think it takes?”

“Dunno” the old man shrugs.

Jouko’s gaze wanders to the owner of the broken vehicle. The bearded man stands stiff; he looks tired, cold and painfully disappointed. He has a big plastic box – the same kind Jouko uses to store away food – which he clasps in his arms like it is his most precious possession. 

“Come within” Jouko beckons “uh... inside.” His English is more than rusty, but he thinks the foreigner isn’t any better either. _Who can speak Russian here_ , he wonders. Paju, maybe... but she has just left for the city taking Hannu and Ville with her.

At least it’s warm in the store. The man sighs and touches his lower back as he takes a seat – keeping the plastic box on in his lap. Jouko puts a couple of freshly baked pastries on a plate and pours out the rest of the coffee in a mug. _How many times have I told the twins to make new coffee when they’ve drunk their fill?!_ He puts everything on the table in front of the man and sits down opposite him.

“Where are you from?” he asks, but regrets it immediately. This is a stupid question; he’s clearly from Russia. “Saint Petersburg?” This is a stupid question too; the man could be from anywhere, not necessary from a town Jouko knows the name.

The man blinks, then shakes his head. “Moscow.”

_That’s far!_   _Did he come all the way from there with this ancient car?_

“Where are you going?” he asks. The man frowns; the lines on his forehead get deeper.

“Where – are – you – going?” Jouko repeats slower, not that it helps. But the foreigner dives into his pocket, pulls out a piece of paper and opens it out on the table. It looks like a brochure of the figure skating world cup – starting today.

“Helsinki” the man says. Jouko shakes his head sympathetically; this poor old sod must have lost his way and his car broke down in the middle of nowhere – on top of that, in the wrong direction.

The man takes out his wallet and pulls out one of the many tiny photographs in it. A blonde young man in a flashy suit holds up a medal – a gold one.

“Grandson.” the foreigner points to the picture, pride in his voice. Even the wrinkles around his eyes relax a little as he gazes at the photo.

Jouko nods – he doesn’t know what to say – and pushes the plate with the pastries closer to the man. The foreigner grabs one roll; but before he tastes it he carefully holds it up in front of his eyes, examines the texture and sniffs the scent of the warm cinnamon and sugar. He seems someone who knows a thing or two about baking, Jouko realises suddenly.

“Good.”The Russian man whispers after a few bites. Then he puts his plastic box on the table and opens it. An appetising smell escapes the box.  Jouko thinks he knows the food inside it, but he has never tasted this kind. The foreigner waves him to try one.

Jouko picks one of the fried things up and takes a bite; it’s still fresh after a day (or two) on the road. The taste surprises him. The dough is filled with unexpected ingredients – deep-fried pork, rice, vegetables... and love.

“Good” he smiles and closes his eyes. The taste brings back memories from the time when his children were young and he baked rolls filled with their favourite dishes when they were sick.  Until he found out the twins were almost always just faking illness for the extra treats.

Jouko opens his eyes and looks at the man’s face again. A kindred spirit, he thinks. He eyes the box of pastry, the brochure of the figure skating competition and the grandson’s photo that the man puts back in his wallet. He understands it now.

He stands up and opens the door. “When can you finish repairing the car?” he asks Pekka.

“Nah, you need time for good work” the old man protests.

Jouko unties his apron and takes it off.  “Jonna! Joona!” he shouts. His twins appear in the kitchen door, covered in flour. “Take care of the store and your little sister” he tells them “The Kuitunens will be here for the cake at four.”

“But Dad!”

“Where the hell are you going?”

“To Helsinki.” he replies while searching for the keys of the minivan.

“What?!” Joona looks around and eyes the Russian man suspiciously. “You can’t just run off with a complete stranger!”

He has a point, Jouko thinks. He turns to the foreigner, who is standing up too, and reaches out his hand. “I’m Jouko Kuikka.”

The man shakes his hand. “Nikolai Plisetsky” he says. There is a faint smile on his face.


End file.
